Prefer to read this in Spanish? You can find the full Spanish version here
The other day, my eldest daughter, who is ten, had to prepare a presentation about the Middle Ages. She chose a beautiful medieval village called Peratallada.
She did a great job. She had visited the village, taken photos, recorded videos, and even added a couple of jokes on top of the required content. From my subjective point of view, it was excellent.
But on the day of the presentation, things didn’t go as she expected. Another child was controlling the slides, the videos didn’t load properly, the clicks didn’t follow the narrative. Live broadcasting challenges. She was deeply disappointed.
I looked at her, convinced that I knew exactly what to say to make her feel better, to connect with the mind of a ten-year-old. So I said:
“Profit sustains us, but does not define us.”
She stared at me like a cow watching a train go by. Probably with the same expression you’re wearing right now reading this.
But I had her attention, so I told her the story behind that phrase—the same story I’m now telling you.
“Profit sustains us, but does not define us” was a sentence frequently used by the most genuine and inspiring CEO I’ve ever worked for: Marjorie Scardino.
London, 2001. I had joined Pearson and, as part of a graduate programme designed to develop future leaders, we had the chance to have dinner with her and her executive team.
At that dinner, we could ask anything we wanted, backed by our vast ten months of professional experience.
One of my colleagues asked:
“What does ‘profit sustains us, but does not define us’ mean to you?”
What I remember of her answer was something like this:
“What I mean is that pursuing profit is not what we do at Pearson.
Profit is the consequence of pursuing excellence.
That is what defines this company.
Excellence doesn’t always deliver immediate returns, but in the long run, it always creates value.
Financial growth is the result of that value.”
I’m sure she said it in a far more elegant and articulate way—she was an exceptional communicator—but what I’ve always taken from it is this:
When your focus is a number, it’s easy to forget what really matters.
Why you’re making the effort.
Who your work is meant to help.
Why it matters that you do it as well as you possibly can.
Focusing on a number doesn’t necessarily create value in the long run.
Focusing on doing things well almost always does.
If you gave the best presentation you could and didn’t get a top grade, it doesn’t matter. You’ve probably learned a lot about presenting. Next time, you’ll make the videos lighter, the clicks smoother, the flow tighter. That’s what school is for: learning.
And the excellent grades will come if you keep focusing on doing things great.
Throughout my career, I’ve seen how obsession with the one number leads to poor decisions making—decisions that might destroy value rather than create it.
Chasing the number as an end can take you there.
Focusing on a grade, a target, a pat on the back can lead to anxiety and frustration.
Pursuing excellence first leads to peace of mind that comes from knowing you did what you were supposed to do.
And very often, results follow—as a consequence, not as the goal.
In both my professional and personal life, Marjorie’s words have stayed with me. They’ve been a lighthouse I’ve tried to follow.
Sharing the story with my ten-year-old felt like passing on the torch. Made me proud and touched when she looked at me, eye to eye, smiled from ear to ear, and said:
“Can I watch an episode of Agent Casey now?”
Looks like the cow will keep watching the train go by for a little while longer.
And you— are you watching the train pass, or are you getting on?
I’m listening.